


A House (With A White Picket Fence)

by love_write_edit_sleep



Category: Zombieland (2009)
Genre: Anxiety, Can be seen as Talumbus or just friends, Crying, Gen, Hugs, M/M, Narrative, Overthinking, Protective Tallahassee (Zombieland), Tallahassee POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22075966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_write_edit_sleep/pseuds/love_write_edit_sleep
Summary: Tallahassee’s thoughts from one night where overthinking gets the better of Columbus, and then himself.
Relationships: Columbus & Tallahassee (Zombieland), Columbus/Tallahassee (Zombieland)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 85





	A House (With A White Picket Fence)

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t gonna post this originally but who knows, someone might like it.

If anyone is out there hearin’ this then help me out here, ‘cause honest-to-God, I’m stuck on this one.

Hold on. Let me set the scene for ya:

Me and my zombie killin’ side-kick, Columbus, had just ramshackled this house, or the remains of it, at least. We killed a few zombies that were squattin’ there before boardin’ up and movin’ in, not in that order. Spit-fuck hid himself in a corner, so I scouted ‘round before headin’ back to the livin’ room and makin’ myself cozy on the couch. Enjoy the little things, am I right?

So, I’m lyin’ there, on this dusty old couch, when the kid perks up from his li’l corner, and says somethin’ so fast that I gotta sit up and tell him to speak English. I’m tellin’ ya, that scrawny li’l spit-fuck could win a fuckin’ marathon with just his mouth. Then he says this:

“Do you think of a house with a white picket fence?”

Now what the fuck am I supposed to say to that? What kind’a question is that anyway? Where the everlovin’ _shit_ did he pluck that one from? I ain’t thinkin’ about no house with no fuckin’ fence! I’m too busy thinkin’ about zombies: killin’ zombies, burnin’ zombies, hittin’ zombies with the Beast, zombies gettin’ Buck… I’m thinkin’ of fuckin’ zombies all the fuckin’ time, and he should be too. So I say that to him.

“I ain’t got time to think of no fuckin’ house.”

“With a white picket fence…”

Like… _Fuck_ , Columbus, I don’t give a shit about the specifics of the fuckin’ house! It ain’t gonna change the fact we should be focused on zombie killin’. He of all people should know that. Then he does that thing he does every time I want him to shut up.

_ He starts talkin’ again. _

“You know when it’s the first day of school? A-and the teacher sits you next to the person that’s going to bully you for the next 10 years and sits your best friend on the other side of the room, and she says ‘ _Okay, we’re gonna draw a house today, draw a picture of a house._ ’ So you do, a-and it doesn't matter what your own house looks like, everyone’s gonna draw the same _fucking_ house. A square with rectangle for a door and few squares or rectangles for windows. Maybe a chimney and some curtains if you’re feeling adventurous, and yeah, sometimes you get that one kid who draws a camper van or a flat or some geeky sci-fi bullshit, but, like, 8 times out of 10, you’re gonna get that fucking house, and half those houses have some sort of fence around them, because why not? Right?”

_ The fuck is this kid talkin’ about…? _

“Right…”

“And you take that for granted, you know? Y-you draw a nice little house with a nice little fence, because that’s what you think of when someone says ‘ _house_ ’. But if you ask any kid that age to draw a house now, what’re they gonna draw? I mean… It’s been 10 years. They’ll never know a house the way we do. Have they ever seen a house before…?”

Now here, I think to myself:  _ Okay, fuck, I think I know what’s happenin’ here; Spit-fuck ain’t gettin’ enough rest or anxiety medication and now he’s overthinkin’. _

“You’re thinkin’ too loud again, Ohio.”

“I want that house, Tallahassee…” 

Now, I’ve seen kids cry. Buck could cry for the whole fuckin’ state. You know? Can usually fix it with milk and a lullaby or two, but it takes a li’l longer for a man to prepare it. Can’t just feed ‘em like a Momma can. Most nights, neither of us got  _ any _ sleep.

So yeah, I’ve seen kids cry, and I’ve dealt with it. But I ain’t ever prepared to see Columbus cry.

Well, as you may’ve guessed: Columbus cried, and Columbus cryin’ ain’t so easy to deal with. Can’t pop a bottle in his mouth and put him to sleep; he’s a big boy, or so he says, moanin’ about not havin’ a house like it’s my fault. It wasn’t a tantrum cryin’ though, no loud bawling or anythin’, just… mournful, quiet. Almost silent.

Columbus couldn’t be silent to save his ass, hence the  _ ‘almost’ _ .

The thing with Columbus is he’s like a li’l puppy. Ya can’t help but feel sorry for him, so ya pick him up with the intention of takin’ him to the next state, but end up gettin’ attached and keepin’ him. But like any puppy, Columbus is a loyal one, and just this once, I’ll let it be known that I do not regret a thing.

So while the li’l spit-fuck sat in his corner, sniffin’ and cryin’, I do my best to try an’ cheer him up.

“If we see a house with a white picket fence on our travels, we can stay the night. Hell, we can even draw a picture of it. How ‘bout that?”

“Okay…”

It ain’t the same though, I know that. He wants to settle down in a perfect house where the grass is green and the sky is blue. Dog called Fido or some bullshit. I made that dog bit up, but you get the point.

See, Ohio’s got this, uh…  _ appreciation… _ for shit that  _ used _ to be normal; Anythin’ preserved from pre-Zombieland times. All he wanted in life was to get hitched, raise a family, yer once-average American dream, but not anymore. For ten years now, the kid’s been searchin’ for his forever home. Now we’re lucky if we can find a buildin’ that’s still standin’...

I knew we were both thinkin’ the same thing, and I knew he knew it too. So I sat with the kid in his dusty li’l corner, my arm around his shoulders like I’d hope to do to Buck some day, to discuss life and the pains that came with it. Hell, perhaps I got an appropriation for what used to be normal too… 

Fuck, who am I kiddin’? We don’t appreciate it, we fuckin’ miss it.

Columbus eventually tired himself out from the cryin’ and flopped against me like one of them rag dolls. Hell, those are rare in Zombieland too… there ain’t much that isn’t rare. Like Twinkies… But I knew, lookin’ down at that sleepin’ spit-fuck’s face, that we had to find him a house.

It was killin’ him, and what's the point of survivin’ if you ain't livin’?

I know what yer thinkin’! I ain’t soft for the li’l spit-fuck, okay? I just know what it’s like to want somethin’ and have it ripped away from ya. It’s too soon for him to hate the world; He ain’t even fresh outta college. Fuck, the kid ain’t ever gonna finish college. 

And that’s when all his over-thinkin’ bullshit hit me. No kid will ever go to college. They won’t even know what the hell college is. College is a fairy tale now. Nice house with a white picket fence? Fairy tale. All those opportunities anyone had before Zombieland? Fairy tales, all of ‘em. Normal ain’t normal anymore.

The kid just wanted some normalcy, and I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.

But where the everlovin’ fuck am I gonna find a house with a white picket fence?


End file.
